The Mongoose Conspiracy
by Tidia
Summary: Brotherhood AU Not everything supernatural is evil.  But a lot of times it is damned irritating.  Based on reportedly true events.Teen Winchesters, John, Bobby, Caleb, Pastor Jim & Mac
1. Chapter 1

Title: The Mongoose Conspiracy

By: Mog and Tidia

Disclaimer: This is a Brotherhood Fic, and thank you to Ridley. Thank you to Eric Kripke for his creation of Supernatural

Mog's Author's Notes: I discovered the story of Geoff the Talking Mongoose while researching something for another fic, and knew his tale had to be told. There are a few lines that I took directly from the original article. Other than that, this is all just comic relief from me and my great writing partner.

Tidia's Author's Note: So, we laughed are head off and then I wrote something, and Mog fluffed then I added and Mog added more and made it so incredibly, I can't catch my breath because I laughed so hard, wonderful. And we see our girls this week, which is totally awesome-- shout out to Ridley, Wills and Gatorpez who we see on Thursday!

* * *

Part 1

"Oh, this has got to be a joke." Dean grinned as he laid the latest issue of The Weekly World News down on Pastor Jim's kitchen table.

"What?" Caleb closed the refrigerator door, balancing two slices of cold pizza, one atop the other, in his hand.

Dean pointed to a quarter-page article in the upper corner of one sheet. "The News. Ya know, it's usually the most accurate source for us to find cases, but this one… check it out."

Caleb leaned over his friend's shoulder, eating as he read. He managed two paragraphs before a laugh threatened to spray half-chewed crust and pepperoni across the newspaper. Forcing himself to swallow, he read aloud a sentence from the article.

" 'He claims to have been born in New Delhi, India in 1852.' Let's see that would make him… how old?"

"155," Sam answered. The fifteen-year-old walked into the kitchen in time to hear Caleb speak. "Somebody is saying they're 155?"

"Not somebody," Dean said with a grin, "some**thing**."

Sam pulled a glass from the cupboard. "Some thing?" He shot his brother a confused look while filling the glass with water from the tap.

Dean pushed the open paper toward his brother. "A talking mongoose."

"Mongoose? Like Rikki-Tikki-Tavi?" Sam moved to look at the grainy photo that accompanied the article. A weasel-like animal with a long, slender body, pointed face, and bushy tail lay curled on a huge pillow.

Sam still looked puzzled and Dean and Caleb listened as he read.

" 'He claims to have been born in New Delhi, India in 1852. He works a sideshow act with Stewart Carnivals reciting dialogue from classic American movies. And he's a mongoose who calls himself Jeff.' "

Sam paused and looked up; his expression covered a range of emotions.

"Keep reading," Dean said. A wide grin was plastered across his face. "It gets better."

Sam continued. "Wilson Wallace, 64, carnival employee and Jeff's caretaker says the mongoose is friendly with kids who come to see him but has gotten surly in regards to some members of the press.

"Wallace said there was one reporter that the mongoose especially had issue with. 'Jeff became angry and shouted, "Tell him not to come. He doesn't believe. I won't speak if he does come. I'll blow his brains out with a thrupenny cartridge!"' "

Dean's brow furrowed despite his laughter. "What the hell is a thrupenny cartridge?"

"I dunno," Caleb said, also laughing. "But, you have to admit, if ever there was an argument for gun control, it's an irate, talking mongoose with an itchy trigger finger."

Dean pulled the paper back toward himself to read more. "Get this - it's been quoting Citizen Cane and Gone with the Wind."

Caleb talked through a mouthful of pizza. "It's like that old Warner Brothers cartoon with the frog who sings but only to the guy who found him, and the guy ends up going broke and insane trying to prove it sings. Then, like, a hundred years later it's found again and starts singing."

Caleb dropped his voice to a nasally timbre and began singing. "Hullo, mah huhney - hullo, mah baby…"

Sam grinned and shook his head. The look on his face indicated he had no idea what Caleb was talking about. "You are so weird."

"Oh my god, Damien is right," Dean said. "Listen to this part… 'He's also developed a flair for singing and knows the words to a good many popular songs.' "

The three boys were still laughing when Jim, John and Mackland entered the house. John eyed them suspiciously. Pranks often followed when the boys got together. John asked the question the other two men were thinking.

"And what exactly are you three up to?"

Dean struggled to put on a mask of seriousness. "I think I have our next hunt."

Caleb interrupted with his own somber attempt. "Could be a poltergeist in physical form."

Dean nodded. "Or a demon. It **has** shown hostility."

Sam piped in with his own theory, but couldn't hold a straight face. "A unique cryptid, maybe. An unexplained, anomalous animal."

Dean tapped the newspaper article with the tip of his index finger. "A talking mongoose."

"His name is Jeff," Sam said, and the boys began laughing in earnest again.

Jim, John and Mac said nothing. Had the boys been paying attention, they may have noticed the taut expression shared by The Triad. Caleb looked at his father in time to see a jittery smile spread across the man's face.

"Talking mongoose?" Mac managed a weak laugh and looked at Jim and John, as if encouraging them to follow suit. "Where, uh, where did you see that?"

Dean pushed the paper toward the three men. "Hey, you guys told us that since things were quiet me and Caleb should research leads on potential hunts, that's what we were doing. I found this one in The News."

John leaned forward to scan the article; however, he seemed unwilling to look at the photo. He coughed out a laugh and a stiff smile found its way to his lips. "Well, ya know, boys, you, uh, can't believe everything you read…."

"C'mon, dad," said Dean, again trying to play a somber role, "we all know The Weekly World News has the most accurate info for hunters. I think this could be a hot one."

Caleb glanced at John, sensing an underlying seriousness in his mentor. However, the opportunity to analyze it slipped away when Bobby burst through the door, panting and wide-eyed. He slammed the door and pressed his back against it with his arms splayed out as if the hounds of Hell followed.

Jim stepped forward. "What's wrong? You okay?"

Still breathing hard, Bobby inhaled deeply through his nose in an effort to regain control. He pulled a rolled newspaper from the back pocket of his jeans. "It's back!"

He thrust the paper at his three associates. John snatched it away and unrolled it to reveal the same edition of The Weekly World News that lay on the kitchen table. The page they looked at showed a picture of a staid mongoose sitting on a large pillow. Jim and Mac scanned the article over John's shoulder.

"It can't be," Jim whispered. He seemed to finally be acknowledging a horrible truth.

"That was over 200 miles away," Mac said, as he more thoroughly read the article.

John shook his head. "It's gotta be dead by now!"

"How long does a mongoose live?!" Bobby asked. A rising panic pushed his voice out at a higher pitch.

"The average lifespan of a mongoose is about 10 years," Sam answered. "And there was an American Box Turtle in captivity that lived to be 123." The fifteen-year-old crossed his arms, proud of his knowledge.

Caleb gave the youngest Winchester a shove. "This isn't an American Box Turtle."

Sam shrugged his shoulders. "I'm just sayin'."

There was only a momentary lull in the conversation between the four older hunters. John closed the newspaper. "It can't be the same one."

Bobby ripped the paper away from his friend and shook it. " 'Gone With the Wind', man! How many mongooses do you know that can quote classic movies?!"

Several seconds passed as the others in the room stared at Bobby, processing the absurdity of his question.

Caleb spoke slowly, as if trying to communicate with a young child. "I'm not sure I know a mongoose that can quote **any **kind of movie. Do **you**, Bobby?"

The four older men stared with blank expressions at their wards. Bobby suddenly shifted focus to The Triad, wholly ignoring the presence of the younger hunters.

"The article says it belonged to an elderly deaf woman who died, and then it ended up with this carnie." Bobby related the article's information from memory. "**An elderly deaf woman**!" He slammed the newspaper down on the table, not noticing the current issue already there. His voice dropped to almost a whisper. "Now fellas, there's coincidence, and then there's just unholy design."

Jim's lips pressed together in a tight line and he looked at the older hunters. He gave Bobby a nod. "You have to go check it out."

"Hold up," Dean said, still smiling, "you guys are serious about this?"

None of the adults acknowledged him. Bobby took a step back, looking in disbelief at his associates. "**I** got stuck with it the first time the last time this happened! Hell no! I ain't going. I'll give the ring back before I go!" He grabbed at the finger of his right hand that bore the ring and attempted to pull off the silver band.

"You're the one who brought it home!" Jim exclaimed. The boys shared speculative, wide-eyed glances. There was definitely an undercurrent of unholy design if the kind minister was raising his voice to a fellow hunter.

Mac interrupted. "Now let's just wait a minute, we're logical men." He folded his arms across his chest and stroked one hand along his chin in contemplation.

Caleb and Dean stepped forward, with Dean pulling Sam along too. "We'll go," the older boys said in unison.

"No!" blurted Mac, Jim and John.

Bobby, however, nodded before looking at The Triad. "These boys gotta face the real world sometime."

John's eyes flitted to his sons. "There're plenty of other things in the world they can deal with first."

Caleb cocked his head. "Okay, what are you guys trying to hide? Oh so well, I might add."

"Nothing!" the older hunters answered.

Sam gave each man a serious look. "You guys know what this is," he said.

Jim and Mac flinched under the boy's scrutiny. John and Bobby just looked away.

Dean began to laugh. "You're telling us you've dealt with a **talking** **mongoose**?" His amusement increased as he pressed the adults further. "Was it a hunt… or an **interview**?!" He spoke through his laughter and nudged Caleb. "I can't believe they kept this a secret. This is classic."

Caleb grinned and crossed his arms. "They're good at keeping secrets."

Sam interrupted Caleb with a question for the adults. "What's so scary about a talking mongoose?"

The query was sincere and Jim opened his mouth to answer, but closed it after a few seconds. John looked trapped on the parental line between explaining, and simply telling his son never he mind and go do some chores.

Mac tried to reply. "You see, Sam, it's… I mean… you have to understand-"

Bobby gazed at the youngest hunter and spoke in a low tone. "It's what it said, son. It's what it said."

Sam's eyes widened with honest curiosity. His mentors seemed genuinely rattled. "What? Did it predict the future? Could it read minds?"

Dean nudged Caleb. "Better watch out, Damien, your job may be in danger."

Caleb returned the push and looked to the older men. "So, ignoring the fact that you still have to tell us the rest of the story – if it spooked you so bad, why didn't you just kill it?"

John felt all eyes on him. The boys saw him as the former Marine, and The Knight. The adults, however, seemed to be looking at him in a different way.

"We posed the same question to him," said Mac, shooting John a sideways glance.

John's eyes narrowed and he stared at his associates. "You guys sayin' you're so quick to forget?" He let the question hang in the air before adding two words. "Old. Yeller."

Like dogs being challenged by an alpha leader, the three other men looked away.

Dean frowned. "The movie with the dog? I don't get it…."

John pointed a finger at his son. "You don't need to get it, Dean. Got that?"

Dean nodded, gauging his father's mood as serious.

Caleb shook his head; he was still having trouble wrapping his mind around the perceived threat. He picked up the wrinkled newspaper that Bobby had dropped on the table. "Talking mongoose, okay. I can see where that could freak a man out. But Dad, you're always saying face your fears. Let's find this carnival, let's go up there."

Mac pulled himself up to his full height. A shift in his stance moved him a bit closer to the rest of The Triad. "I am not afraid of a talking mongoose, Caleb."

Bobby gave the three hunters a sidelong glance. "I am," he muttered. "And I'm happy to let the mighty Triad deal with that damned thing. 'sides, we all won't fit in one car. I'll just stay behind--"

Jim cleared his throat. "We are going." He gave Bobby a pointed look. "All of us. We can take the church van."

The older men had the self control to keep themselves in check. The boys, however, groaned audibly. None of them liked the church van. They questioned how a religious institution could own something that was so clearly spat up from Hell.

Both sides of the white van displayed a neon-colored rainbow. The paint shades were exceptionally bright and the thick black lines separating the colors were drawn with a jagged freehand. Bouncing along on worn suspension, the van's rainbows could induce motion sickness on select passersby.

The vinyl-covered chairs and bench seats were avocado green with white stripes and had hardened and cracked due to years of exposure to extreme temperatures. Small tears in the edges of the upholstery had wounded many a passenger with tiny scratches that lingered and stung like paper cuts. It was as if the van was determined to deliver little, personal injuries that parishioners could bear as remembrances that Jesus withstood crucifixion for them.

As far as the boys were concerned, just because the church van could fit a total of eight people, didn't mean eight people should ever be forced to ride in it.

Sam crossed his arms. It was a Friday night and he had homework to do over that weekend. He certainly didn't want to waste a Saturday for a silly mongoose. "Pastor Jim, you said we shouldn't use the van unless it was church business."

Jim narrowed his eyes, quickly rising to the challenge. "This is **holy** business, Samuel."

Sam looked to his brother but Dean just shrugged. It was rare to hear a stern tone from Pastor Jim, especially directed at Sam. The young boy nodded. "Yes, sir."

* * *

Seven a.m. saw the crew of hunters loaded into Pastor Jim's church van. John had secured a duffle bag in the back but no one asked what was in it, and he didn't offer information. The boys did little talking thanks to the early hour, and the men each seemed lost in their own thoughts. 

Forty-five miles blurred past the van's large, rectangular windows before a coffee break infused the dull group with a few degrees of life. With hot caffeine in hand, Jim and John reclaimed their positions in the front while Caleb and Dean settled in the rear.

Sam hopped in the side door with a cup of coffee; wanting the drink not for the energy but for the feeling of maturity and adult bonding it gave him.

"Bobby and Mac should be back in a minute," Sam said. Rather than taking his seat in the back, he slipped an arm between Jim and John to reach the radio.

His dad gave him a serious look. "No."

"But--"

"The radio stays off." John was already looking straight ahead; it indicated the end of the discussion.

Sam held off from rolling his eyes until he shuffled back to the rear bench seat and dropped down next to his brother.

Caleb yawned as he pulled his long hair back and secured it into a ponytail. Leaning forward, he caught Sam's eye. "You could sing… I know you like The Partridge Family." He bobbed his head in an overtly happy fashion and imitated David Cassidy. "I think I love you, so what am I so afraid of--"

Dean interrupted. "The Partridge Family?"

"Yeah," Caleb said, "I caught the runt watching it on reruns last night. He thinks Mrs. Partridge is hot."

Sam glared at Caleb. "I do not. I was flipping through the channels, stupid." He reached around Dean's shoulder and pulled Caleb's ponytail.

"Ow!" Caleb also stretched an arm behind Dean and smacked Sam on the back of the head.

Mac and Bobby returned to the van in time to be caught between a deadly look from Jim toward the boys. Dean spoke up quickly, hoping to allay vocalized irritation.

"Hey Sammy, didn't you do some research last night on those crypt animals you were talking about yesterday?"

"Cryptid," Mac corrected.

Jim got the van back on the road as Sam spoke. "I found a bunch of stuff on mongooses and UMA's. Did you know they're illegal to bring into the United States?"

Dean's brow wrinkled with confusion. "The government regulates unidentified mysterious animals? Oh, you meant the… never mind."

"Duh," Caleb said, punching Dean lightly on the arm. Dean returned the hit as Sam continued.

"There were a few reported cases of animals, like dogs and cats, that were supposed to be able to speak – but those aren't really UMA's because they're… well, dogs and cats, and everybody knows what those are. Charles Fort and Ken Gerhard have theories about poltergeists or demons being responsible for animal vocalizations."

"It wasn't anything like that," Jim said.

"Yeah," muttered John, "no evil spirit could handle that much holy water."

"What did dad say?" Sam asked Dean.

His brother shrugged. "I dunno, I couldn't hear him."

Caleb peeled the thin plastic lid off the Styrofoam cup in his hand and blew on the hot coffee. "So how did this all start?

The boys noticed the attention of The Triad shift to Bobby, but it was Jim who spoke.

"I'd say the trouble started when it was let loose in the church. **Bobby**." Jim shook his head and glanced in the rearview mirror at Bobby. "A church, a place of worship. The House of God."

The preacher's tone rose, as if he was building up for a fire and brimstone sermon. Sam, Dean and Caleb exchanged looks. This was a side of Pastor Jim they never recalled seeing.

Bobby quickly spoke up. "Oh, no you don't. If this story is gonna be told – it's gonna be told right."


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:** The Mongoose Conspiracy

**By:** Mog and Tidia

**Authors' Notes: ** We are all together (Ridley, Wills, Gatorpez, Tidia and Mog)! (Cross fingers that we will have at least dial up) Thank you for all the great reviews! Thank you for the dog pictures for Boo. We will be deciding this weekend and post the "winner" on Sunday with the end of this fic.

* * *

Part 2

Bobby stared at the skinny, pointy-faced animal sitting in the front seat of the rented U-Haul truck and watched his friend, Caroline Wells, open the vehicle's door and scoop the creature out. She was a pretty, middle-aged woman who was looking like she hadn't slept well in several days.

She spoke to the animal as she lowered it to the ground. "Jeff, you're a mongoose, you said you wouldn't like the city. You remember? We discussed this."

Bobby stood a few meters away, next to Caroline's husband, Davis. "Uh, Dav, how's Carol handling the move?"

Davis looked to where Bobby nodded and his shoulders drooped. When he replied, his voice sounded strained, despite his upbeat words. "Good. She's working hard. That's Jeff, a mongoose, he showed up a few months back. He's kinda one of Eric's strays. Ya know, that boy is real intelligent for an 11-year-old, but he's just like his momma – book smart to no end, but has the common sense of a newborn kitten. Eric says it followed him home from one of his fishing trips at the river."

The two men watched Caroline, hands on her hips, speak firmly to the mongoose, though they were too far away to hear what she said.

Bobby cocked his head toward Davis. "Mongoose, huh? She seems to be, uh, havin' quite the discussion with it."

"You've no idea," Davis mumbled.

"What's that?"

"That's my dear," Davis said. His smile seemed a little plastered on, but Bobby attributed it to his friend's preparations for the family's long-haul relocation to Dallas. "She's a good lady, though she can be a bit of a pushover sometimes."

Caroline's voice raised and Bobby watched as she pointed in the direction of the woods behind what was soon to be the Wells' former home.

"You know that's your real home out there! Don't you give me that look, mister! You made your decision quite clear."

She looked up and saw Bobby and her husband watching her. Her tired expression fell away and a light sparked in her eyes. With one quick motion she bundled the mongoose into her arms and strode towards them. She smiled at Bobby and her words tumbled out.

"Bobby, you've always been such a great friend. And I can't even thank you enough for helping us load up the truck. But, um, could we maybe ask one more favor? This is Jeff, he's a mongoose. Would it be any trouble if we moved him out to your place? He pretty much takes care of himself. And really, if you just kept something like a nest of hay in that back shed of yours, he'd be no trouble. I hate the idea of him being out, what with all the foxes and coyotes we have around here."

Bobby's eyes were wide and his gaze shifted between Davis, Caroline, and the mongoose. "Uh… Dav was sayin' he's kinda one of Eric's strays. Won't he miss him?"

A startled look crossed Caroline's face before she recovered and tossed out a shaky laugh. "Oh, you mean will **Eric** miss him? Oh, no, it's okay. It's best if he stays here. We discussed it and we really are all in agreement."

For a few seconds Bobby thought Caroline included the mongoose in the term 'all', then he realized she must have meant Davis and their son, Eric. "I dunno, Carol… I mean I-"

"Oh please, Bobby. It would do Eric a world of good if he knew Jeff wasn't just going to be on his own."

Bobby couldn't ignore the pleading gaze in the woman's eyes. Even the mongoose seemed to be staring at him with a plaintive expression. He tipped up the brim of his well-worn baseball cap with one finger. "Well… I guess he could keep Rufus company. That old dog will get along with anything."

------------------------------------------------------

From his spot in the passenger's seat of the church van John shook his head and looked back at Bobby. "Still sticking with the story that you didn't know it could talk? You sure know how to spin 'em, Singer."

"I said I didn't know there was anything strange about it **at first**! Damn thing didn't do anything out of the ordinary for two whole weeks! Just sat in that old plaid chair of mine and watched t.v."

Dean raised his eyebrows. "A mongoose is sitting in your La-Z-Boy watching NASCAR and this was normal to you?"

"He didn't watch NASCAR!" Bobby exclaimed. He lowered his voice and clarified his statement. "He watched movies."

"So how did the rest of you get roped in?" Dean wondered how his father had agreed to get involved. John Winchester was a leader not a follower.

Bobby, usually a secretive person, eagerly divulged details. "The thing drove me nuts! Started speaking to me plain as day, and then it wouldn't shut up. If I didn't know Davis and Caroline already had that move to Dallas planned I would've sworn they left 'cause of Jeff."

He shook his head and spoke introspectively. "Just not something you do to a friend. You don't just drop a talking mongoose off on a fella without warning him."

Sam didn't seem concerned with the violation of friendship. "What did it talk about?"

"Scarlett and Rhett, mostly," Bobby said, "but India and Ashley too. Ashley was a wimp. And Bonnie, well, that was just sad."

Caleb leaned forward and rested his arms on the bench seat in front of him. "**What** is he talking about?" he asked his father.

"Gone With the Wind," Mac said. "Jeff liked movies, especially that one."

John looked over his shoulder and a small grin played on his lips. "The better question is why was **Bobby** watching Gone With the Wind?"

All the occupants of the car looked at Bobby who frowned under the scrutiny. "It's a classic," he muttered.

" 'The Godfather' is a classic," Caleb corrected.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Whatever. How did Jeff get to Pastor Jim's?"

"I was doing double-duty," Bobby said. "Visiting Fiona and bringing some building supplies to Jim. The church was helping rebuild a house damaged by fire."

"And you brought the mongoose?" asked Sam.

Dean smirked. "Maybe it learned some stuff while watching 'This Old House' and wanted to help out."

Bobby ignored the comment. "Actually, he uh… he wanted to come, to see the scenery. He liked riding in the truck. Though he was a real son of a bitch when it came to the radio, always tried to find a rap station."

-------------------------------------------------

Bobby dropped off the last box of nails with Jim and headed back to his truck. He expected to see Jeff staring at him from the driver's seat, but there was no sign of the small furry head.

"You best not be messing with my--" Bobby pulled open the door and froze. The cab was empty. "Jeff?" Bobby's heart rate spiked when his scan under the seat revealed nothing. "Jeff?! Sonofabitch! The window wasn't open that much!"

He slammed the door hard and looked around the parking lot. He'd just released a talking mongoose into the general population. For thirty minutes he shook landscaping bushes and knelt beside parked cars, calling for Jeff in a low, harsh voice.

He leaned against his truck and pulled his ball cap off long enough to run a hand through his hair. "Oh man, this is not good. Jeesus, Singer, you lost a mongoose. You lost a freakin' talking mongoose! Okay, let's think about this. He's a wild animal; he'll be able to survive on his own."

His eyes flicked to the church. '_I should tell Jim... what if Jeff gets in the church. Nah, that's crazy, he's probably holed up underground by now. I should just head home. Just head on back home.'_

-------------------------------------------------

Bobby concluded his part of the story. "I figured he'd gone back to the wild, him being a wild animal and all."

Mac stared at the man seated beside him. "Really? Back to the wild? I never knew you to be an environmentalist, Bobby. Seems more likely you were thinking you should just head home, and Jeff would be someone else's problem."

Bobby cast a surprised look from Mac to Caleb, then back to Mac. "Isn't Jim always preaching about privacy?"

Jim fixed a gaze on Bobby via the rearview mirror. "Mackland cannot read your mind, as you well know, but it **is** sounding like you have a guilty conscious. Perhaps my sermon about lies of omission is needed?"

Bobby glanced down. "Fine, I'm the bad guy, but you were the one that wanted to kill it."

"Is that why they called you in, Johnny?" Caleb was starting to piece the story together.

"Ask the **great **Dr. Ames." John looked over his shoulder towards Mac.

"Dad?" Caleb asked.

"Jim?" Mac redirected.

Jim kept his eyes on the road. "And to think I chose both of you to lead The Triad. Evidently, my impressions of strength and trustworthiness were incorrect."

Dean worked to get them back on track. "This is something we need to know about, Jim. What if we ever come in contact with a talking mongoose? This is like research."

Jim rolled his eyes. "Fine. But unlike Bobby, my story is truthful." He glared at Bobby, who sighed in discontent.

---------------------------------------------

Deacon Benjamin caught Jim in the hall as he came in from talking with Bobby. "Oh, Pastor Jim, I think I saw Mrs. Aucklann out front a little bit ago."

Jim stifled a sigh. "Confession **again**? I suppose I shouldn't be surprised anymore. She averages what, five days a week? I've run out of prayer combinations for penance. I'm just not sure chasing birds out of a strawberry garden requires atonement."

Benjamin's lips slid into a lopsided grin. "Well now, they **are** God's creatures. At least we know she'll be free and clear of all sins when she passes through the pearly gates. Maybe she can put in a good word for us."

Jim couldn't help but smile. "She may be 93 years old but sometimes I think she's going to out live all of us." He hitched a thumb toward the back parking lot of the church. "Bobby just dropped off some supplies for the Galloway's house."

"Well," Benjamin said, "I'll just go handle those. Mrs. Aucklann does like you best."

Jim watched the deacon walk away and swore there was a spring in his step. The pastor had long-suspected Benjamin would love to stage a coup and take over the small church. It was times like these when Jim considered letting him have it. Mrs. Aucklann and all.

--------------------------------------

Jim exited the rectory to see Mrs. Aucklann closing the door to one of the confessional booths.

She teetered towards him with a bright smile. "Oh, Pastor Jim, I love the new associate minister." She grasped his arm and gave it a squeeze. "Such a charming accent, just like a young James Cagney, don't you think? I can't wait to hear his sermon."

She didn't seem to notice the confused look on the pastor's face. She shuffled to the church's front doors still wearing a delighted grin.

Jim watched her leave, and then crossed to the confessional. He had not hired a new associate minister, and if Deacon Benjamin was getting grandiose ideas again Jim would have to put a stop to them. He softly knocked on the door of the booth he usually occupied. "Hello?"

With his hand on the small silver knob he pulled open the door. Light flooded into the closet-sized room. The human he expected to see was not there. Instead he stared into the pointed face of a small, furry animal.

"What in the world…."

A well-articulated, warbling voice interrupted Jim as the animal introduced itself. The presentation was so composed and polite the pastor felt a momentary urge to extend his hand and reply. However, the bizarre realization of the situation hit him and he slammed the door.

Thoughts rushed through his brain as he scanned the church to see if anybody else was around. _'Is this a practical joke? It looked so real.'_

He'd seen so many unnatural things in his time with The Brotherhood. But a talking mongoose in a church's confessional was beyond anything he had experienced. He'd need to do some research. He also needed to get that thing out of his church.

A muffled voice from behind the door prodded Jim to act. Looking around, he spotted a slim wicker basket that held decorative dried reeds. Keeping one hand pressed against the door, he grabbed the basket, and shook the contents to the floor. He slipped out of his black jacket and positioned the basket next to the confessional.

He flung open the door and, with speed honed by years as a hunter, scooped up the mongoose, maneuvered it into the basket and stuffed his jacket into the container's narrow opening. The basket shook as the squirming, complaining animal fought against its capture.

Jim dashed for his truck, carrying the basket close in an effort to diminish the vocalizations. In the truck, he buckled the basket into the passenger seat. Anyone who ever teased him about being an overly-careful driver would have been stunned by the ten-minute trip home cut to four minutes.

The truck tires squealed against the pressure of a corner taken too fast. Jim pretended not to notice Mr. Simms waving and looking confused. Next time the man came to confession, Jim would let him off with one Our Father.

Rolling up to the barn, Jim tried to ignore the continuous stream of muffled dialogue, which alternated between cajoling and cursing. He opened the barn door and threw the basket - jacket, mongoose and all - inside, and pulled the door shut.

In the house, he stood with the phone receiver pressed to his ear; tapping his foot and listening to the dull pulse of Mac's phone go unanswered. Jim thought a call from The Guardian should be considered paramount. He further decided a red hotline phone should be added to The Triad's communication system. Finally, Mac answered.

"You need to come to Kentucky. Now." Jim massaged the back of his neck before pulling the stiff priest collar from his black shirt.

"Why? What's wrong? Are you okay? The boys?"

Jim frowned. _'Would it be so hard if, for once, The Guardian's order was not questioned?' _

"No, no, everybody's fine. There's a… I have another issue."

Mac paused before replying. "You're usually not mysterious."

Jim unconsciously gripped the collar he held. He really didn't want to explain, but the stress of his situation allowed the truth to slip out. "I found a talking mongoose in my confessional."

"Excuse me."

"A mongoose," he repeated, "and it talks, quite a lot actually. Mackland, listen carefully, there's no time for discussion. I am The Guardian. You are The Scholar. There is a very disturbing mongoose locked in my barn. I need your services. I expect you on the next flight."

Mac coughed, but it sounded more like a chuckle. "I'm not a vet."

"I don't care what you are, get here! Next flight!"

------------------------------------------------------

Bobby interrupted the story. "So that's how you found Jeff. I always wondered how Mac got involved."

"Well, if you'd been there, you'd have known," Mac said. "It **was** your fault."

"You're part of the fancy-pants Triad," Bobby replied, crossing his arms. "You couldn't have figured something out?"

"I did," Mac smugly said. "I talked to him. He said you didn't even bother looking for him, Bobby." Mac raised his brows, taunting the other man to disagree. "You know, his lifelong dream was to become an actor."

Caleb gave his father a strange look, as if questioning his sanity. "Dad?"

Mac understood the look and did not like it. "What? I asked him what his dreams were. Establishing a dialogue is something I do with any of my patients."

"This was a **talking mongoose**." Caleb spoke slowly and with emphasis.

"Don't you take the tone with me, because I will take away your trust fund." Mac stared at his son, who only grinned back.

"My kids at least listen to me," John said. "But, please, tell us all the story about how Doctor Ames tried to cure the patient."

Mac frowned. He really did not like these men at the moment. And being trapped in Jim's wretched church van didn't help. _'Wait a minute, I'm wealthy. I can arrange for this thing to be scrapped and replaced with something new. Better yet, I'll arrange my own transportation. I'll never travel with any of them again.'_

"Dad?"

Mac was jerked back to reality. "Hmm? Oh. Well, as usual, I was asked to apply my brand of finesse to the situation."

-----------------------------------------------

Flights from JFK to Louisville were not plentiful; but after one layover and a two hour drive, Mac was at Jim's farm. The pastor was waiting outside, rocking on the porch swing with Atticus and Scout by his feet. The dogs were the only ones who provided a warm greeting. Mac climbed the two small steps to the porch.

"Jim. How are you?"

"I'm perfectly fine, Mackland." Jim's arms were folded across his chest and he stared, unblinking, at Mac.

"And the… mongoose?" Mac hoped this was all an elaborate practical joke, or at the worst a moment of temporary insanity. Perhaps The Guardian position had become too much.

"Jeffrey is in the house."

"It has a name?" Mac blurted. "Wait, you allowed it in the house?" Jokes or insanity aside, a mongoose was not a domesticated animal.

The swing kept a constant tempo; it seemed like an obsessive-compulsive activity rather than a soothing one. "I didn't have much choice," Jim said. "The animals in the barn were acting strangely. I thought there could be a risk of sedition."

"Sedition?" Mac was unsure if he'd misheard. He backed up a step, the hunter part of him expecting a supernatural attack.

"Yes." Jim nodded, and then gestured to the house. "Go ahead. He's waiting for you."

Mac dropped his overnight bag near the door and mumbled over his shoulder. "Domine lesu Christe-"

"I'm perfectly fine, Mackland," said Jim, not even looking at his friend.

Mac squared his shoulders and opened the front door. Voices from the television, although low, could be heard throughout the main floor of the house.

Mac wasn't sure what to expect. "Hello?"

He wandered deeper into the home, not wanting to surprise the mongoose, or worse, have it surprise him. A reply from the overstuffed chair in front of the television was, nonetheless, surprising.

Mac blinked, then blinked again. The mongoose sat in Jim's chair, looking quite comfortable. And it had just answered his greeting. Mac was unaware of his mouth dropping open as he watched the mongoose's lips move. He wasn't even sure mongooses had lips.

"Uh, umm, yes." Mac winced as his voice cracked. Dark, liquid eyes focused on him. Mac stared at the little pink nose and gray whiskers that twitched when the mongoose asked him a question in a squeaky voice. Mac regained his composure and sat on the end of the couch furthest from the slim rodent.

"Pastor Jim called me. He's a bit concerned."

Jeff began to talk and it didn't take long for Mac to understand the emotion behind the expression Pastor Jim had worn earlier. _'Dear God, does it ever shut up?'_

While the mongoose bore no initial indication of evil, Mac wondered if it truly was malevolent - wearing down its unsuspecting victims with inane chatter and mind-numbing stories of its history until they were lulled into a stupor and ripe for possession.

Mac's eye drifted out the window to his rental car. He could leave through the back door, give up The Brotherhood and no one would ever know he talked to a mongoose.

He heard the chipper voice mention a familiar name. "Bobby?" Mac repeated. So much became clear. Bobby Singer, of course, had to be involved.

An hour later Mac joined Jim on the porch. The pastor had ceased his compulsive swinging and silence settled between the two men. Mac rested his hands on his hips and gazed out to the gravel drive. "You have a talking mongoose named Jeff in your living room."

"And you can do something about it?"

Mac sighed. "This is beyond me. I need a drink."

Jim began rocking again. Scout, who had been lying peacefully by the pastor, moved toward Mac with a whine.

"We can't let a talking mongoose just run around." Jim said. "It's wrong."

Mac glanced at the dog by his feet. When he decided to be a part of The Brotherhood, and later The Scholar, he expected excitement and danger, but not this. "Have you called John?"

"No, I thought this would be a job for The Scholar."

Brains were not needed to deal with Jeff, brawn was. "I think this is one for The Knight." Mac crossed his arms. John could handle it; he would probably even enjoy it - live target practice.

"Hmmm." Jim stopped swinging. "You could be right. He is the defender…."

-------------------------------------

"You wanted John to kill Jeff?" Bobby seemed shocked. Sure he thought the mongoose had been annoying, but outright murder, by The Triad no less. It was better to think he could have died of natural causes, been eaten by another animal, or run over by a car.

Caleb grinned. "You know how it is Bobby; you need to use people you trust." He altered the tone of his voice and looked at Dean. "I want somebody good - and I mean very good - to plant that gun." The dialogue from 'The Godfather' rolled out easily. "I don't want my brother coming out of that toilet with just his dick in his hands, alright?"

Dean picked up the next line. "The gun'll be there."

"Boys," Jim said, "The Brotherhood is not linked to the Mafia, as I have told you many times." He narrowed his eyes while staring at the boys in the rearview mirror.

John looked at Mac. "Your son introduced my son to that particular movie."

"It is a classic," Mac weakly mimicked his son's answer from almost an hour before. He had yet to see the movie all the way through himself.

John rolled his eyes. "Yeah, they passed the buck to me, calling in the muscle. And I have to say I felt used." John shifted uncomfortably in the passenger's seat. "I never should have answered the phone."


	3. Chapter 3

Title: The Mongoose Conspiracy

By: Tidia & Mog

Disclaimer: See Part 1

Notes: I know we said Sunday, but that is the day that our friends went back to their homes and then we had to recuperate. We had a great time! Thank you for the great reviews! We are so glad you are laughing!

Part 3

A map of 19th century San Francisco lay across the coffee table that John was using for a desk. Under the map, a lump was ringing. John pushed aside the map, a book on gypsy folktales, and a pad of paper before he found the phone.

"John, where are you?"

"South Carolina," John said, surprised at Jim's curt tone. "Why?"

"You need to get here, right away."

"What about the boys?" His sons were at school and due home shortly.

"Leave 'em!" Jim retorted.

"You hate it when I do that." John had received many lectures about his poor parenting skills, and a sore point had been how often he left them alone. "What the hell is going on?"

Jim paused before answering. "Bobby got us into a mess. Actually, don't worry about the boys, Bobby will come watch them."

John couldn't recall ever hearing the pastor sound so confused and lost. John left a note and some money for Dean and Sam, though he was unsure about when Bobby would arrive.

The drive to Jim's was long, but doable within a few hours. Outside the pastor's house, John threw the car in park. He took a moment to strap on a shoulder holster before heading to the front door. In the kitchen, Jim and Mac were seated at the table, each with a tumbler filled with amber liquid.

"Alright, I'm here. What's going on?" He looked from Jim to Mac. "Caleb?"

"Caleb's fine," Mac said. "He's at school. Jim called me in to consult on another problem. But we need your expertise in the matter."

Jim studied the whiskey in his glass before answering. "Bobby left me a talking mongoose."

"Come again? A what?"

"It's like a ferret," said Mac.

"I **know** what a mongoose is." John gripped the back of a kitchen chair. "I drove from South Carolina; I left my boys, for a **rodent**?"

Jim gazed at his friend. "We're dealing with something unnatural, John. It's touched by something not of this world." He squared his shoulders. "It is something The Knight should deal with."

John was tired. He wasn't in the mood to argue. He would kill it and be back on the road in five minutes. "Where is it?"

"In the bedroom the boys use." Mac pointed to the stairs.

John pulled the pistol from his holster and headed for the second floor. Mac and Jim followed at a distance. John cautiously opened the bedroom door but was startled by what he saw. Sitting, dejected, on the home-spun carpet was a very wet, furry animal.

"It's wet," John said. He stepped into the room to get a closer look.

Jim and Mac replied in unison, embarrassment in their tone. "Holy water."

John stared at the two men. "It's soaked."

"We had to make sure it wasn't possessed," Jim said.

"We'll leave you to get on with it." Mac gave Jim a nudge toward the door. He closed it behind them and John was left alone with the mongoose.

Mac and Jim returned to their whiskey and their seats at the kitchen table and braced themselves for the sharp crack of a pistol shot. Ten minutes passed, then twenty. After thirty minutes, the sound of footsteps on the stairs caused the two men to look up.

"There were no shots," Jim said. The pastor stood as John appeared in the doorway, his gun holster and the mongoose, quite alive, tucked under his arm. "And you brought it downstairs with you." The pastor dropped back into his chair.

-------------------------------------------

"So you didn't kill it?" Sam asked. He wanted reassurance that his father was not a killer of defenseless animals.

John sighed loudly, perturbed over his position in the scenario. "No, I didn't kill it! It kept looking at me with those damned big eyes. It was quoting 'Old Yeller' for God's sake." He spoke again, more to himself. "I loved that movie when I was a kid."

Bobby shook his head. "Oh, that's dirty pool."

Dean smothered a chuckle. Caleb didn't bother to muffle his laugh. "So what happened to it? Did it give you the slip?"

A few seconds of silence followed before John answered. "Kind of. I thought we should all sit down and talk things out."

"Whoa, Johnny, what happened to shoot first and ask questions later?" Caleb asked.

"You want to hear the rest of this story or what? 'cause I'm not above shooting **you**."

Caleb grinned and leaned back, gesturing for John to continue.

-------------------------------------------------

The Triad was at an impasse over Jim's unwanted guest. It didn't seem wise to turn it loose on the world, yet they certainly didn't want to take responsibility for it. Jeffrey paced around the kitchen. Shuffling about on all fours, he was vocal about his needs and will to survive, until Jim lured him to the television and showed him how to use the remote.

The Triad's discussion in the kitchen was interrupted by a knock at the front door.

"What now?" Jim whispered, glancing to the heavens. He left The Knight and The Scholar with a veiled threat. "Keep him quiet."

Jim opened the door just enough to wedge his body into the opening. He recognized the woman standing on his porch as one of his neighbors and parishioners.

"Hello, Barbara, lovely day today. How can I help you?" To Jim's ears the greeting sounded trite, but he felt the need to rush the woman along.

"Hi Pastor Jim, I wondered if you could stop by my house this week and pick up my mail while I'm away?" She smiled hesitantly, noticing how Jim blocked the door.

"Going on vacation?"

"Nothing as nice as that. My Aunt Gretel is ill. She's going through a tough time. I'm hoping to help her out for a few days to get her back on her feet. You know how it is."

Jim sensed that Barbara sought a sympathetic ear. An image flitted through his mind of the middle-aged woman engaged in an endless conversation with Jeff over tea and biscuits. He shook it off just as a loud, warbling voice echoed from the room behind him.

"If I have to lie, steal, cheat or kill. As God is my witness, I'll never be hungry again."

Barbara's brow furrowed and she gave a high pitched, uncomfortable laugh. "Sounds like it might be time for a new television."

Jim weakly laughed in return and called over his shoulder. "John, could you take a look at the t.v.?"

A narrow sight line afforded Jim the view of Jeff sitting in the overstuffed chair, raising and dropping one small foot repeatedly onto the remote to flip through channels. The mongoose suddenly darted from the chair, aware of John and Mac bearing down on it.

Jim turned back to Barbara and pulled the door tighter against his body, hoping to block any noise. An unmistakable high-pitched voice broke through the barrier.

"Normally, both your asses would be dead as fucking fried chicken, but you happen to pull this shit while I'm in a transitional period so I don't wanna kill you."

John and Mac's voices rose above Jeff's.

"Pulp Fiction?"

"Shut up! Shut up!"

However, the squeaky voice continued. "I've already been through too much shit this morning over this case to hand it over to your dumb ass."

Jim winced. Barbara was stunned. Jim hazarded another glance over his shoulder and watched his friends wrangle the mongoose and toss it in the bathroom before pulling the door closed.

Jim inwardly sighed and walked out to the front porch, placing a hand on Barbara's arm. "You're always so giving. This must be a lot of responsibility for you."

Barbara's expression warmed and she let herself be guided down the porch stairs. "Auntie's almost totally deaf, but so independent. I'll be lucky if she lets me stay a week."

"Remarkable," Jim said. Years of counseling provided him a collection of supportive replies. "She must be a wonderful woman. I'll make sure the congregation says a prayer for her this Sunday."

"Oh, thank you."

"Of course." Jim gave her a nod. "And don't worry about the mail. I'll take care of it."

Jim placed his hand on her back and gently guided her toward the large, brown station wagon parked in his driveway. He smiled and waved even as he backed toward the house. He returned to the kitchen and slumped in the doorway. "This is the problem with a talking mongoose!"

John and Mac avoided making eye contact with the pastor. Jim shot them a look of disgust as he stalked past them and opened the bathroom door.

'_Have to deal with everything myself... Never should have involved The Scholar __**or**__ The Knight... This whole Triad idea is overrated. Maybe __**one**__ person should control it all.'_

Jim interrupted his own thoughts as he looked in the bathroom. "Where is it?"

John and Mac rushed up behind him. Three sets of eyes fell on the open, unscreened bathroom window.

With mutual realization, they ran to the porch. Barbara had turned her station wagon around in the driveway and was pulling away. Jeff's small head was visible through the back window. He twitched his nose several times before dropping out of sight.

The Triad stood in silence for a moment, watching the car leave.

"Should we do something?" asked Mac.

"I'm not sure there's anything to do," said Jim. "They're headed for deaf Aunt Gretel's house."

"Problem solved," John said. "I'm going back to my kids."

Jim grabbed his arm before he stepped off the porch. "It's agreed, we're never to speak of this."

The three men exchanged looks.

"Ever," Mac said.

"Ever," John agreed.

---------------------------------------------------------

The church van rolled along. The occupants sat in silence, but each for different reasons.

Dean wore a shocked expression. "You let **Bobby** baby-sit us?"

"Hey!" said Bobby.

Caleb gave Dean a shove. "That's the least of the questions, man. The Triad was burned by a talking mongoose. No wonder they never shared the story."

Jim eyed the boys in the rearview mirror. "I don't want to hear any mongoose jokes, ever. I will take away your rings, and Samuel, you will never get one."

It was times like these that the boys realized how truly powerful their friendly pastor was. Jim turned his attention back to the road. The three younger hunters gently hit the tops of their fists together - one day, they would have to use this information for their benefit.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The seven hunters stood in front of the dusty red tent and stared at the colorful canvas poster.

"Jeff! The Incredible Talking Mongoose"

An older man in jeans and a denim shirt shuffled around the tent opening, cleaning up litter and preparing for the day. He livened up when he saw the potential customers. "Come on in fellas! You will never see anything like this miracle of nature in any of your born days! The small fee you pay is nothing compared to the wonder and amazement you will experience in the presence of Jeff the talking mongoose!"

Jim pushed Bobby forward, hat in hand. "We need to see him."

"Yes, sir – he's a wonder. Talks real loud on account of him living with a deaf woman for a few years."

The three older hunters exchange furtive glances while the younger three tried not to laugh.

"Can we meet him?" asked Sam.

"He usually not up this early. Hold on." The handler disappeared into the tent but returned a few seconds later. "You're lucky. He's awake."

The man positioned himself in front of the tent. "That'll be eight dollars per person."

John looked at the handler. "We paid at the front gate."

"That was to get into the carnival. But this, my good man, is to bear witness to a once in a century phenomenon."

Jim looked at Bobby. "Yes, I suppose a man would be fortunate to deal with a talking mongoose just **once** in his life."

Mac stepped forward and pulled out his wallet. "Can we just get this over with? Here." He held out three twenty-dollar bills but withdrew them a second later. "Wait, what about child's price?"

"Twelve and under – five dollars."

Every set of eyes turned to Sam.

The boy replied hesitantly. "I'm…twelve."

Jim dropped his arm over Sam's shoulder. "He's twelve."

The carnival worker's lips pressed tight together as his eye flicked from Sam, to Jim's pastor's collar, and back to Sam.

"Fine. Fifty-three dollars."

Inside the tent, the hunters waited as their eyes adjusted to the dark.

"Hi!" Sam called out to the darkness.

"Hello, anyone there?" Caleb asked.

Dean cupped his hands around his mouth. "Hellloooo."

A wood dais, covered with large jewel-toned, velvet pillows, sat in the center of the tent. Resting on a royal purple cushion was the mongoose they'd all seen in the photograph the day before.

They waited for a response. The older hunters leaned in further. The small animal ruffled its fur under the scrutiny, but it made no sound. It yawned and stretched on the large purple cushion before bringing one back leg up to scratch under its chin.

"Does it look like him?" John asked.

"That was the only time I ever saw a mongoose," Bobby said. "Don't they look alike?" He looked to Mac, who tapped a finger to his own chest.

"Neurology. I work with brains. Why is it so hard to remember that I'm not a veterinarian?"

"Hey, do you think it knows any Schwarzenegger movies?" Dean asked. "Can it do accents?"

Bobby cuffed Dean on the back of the head. "Hush, boy. You have no idea what this mongoose is capable of."

They stared at it for another moment.

"Dad," Sam said, "it's not talking."

"I can see that, son," John replied, in an annoyed tone.

"This is lame," Dean said. He nudged Caleb. "Wanna check out the bearded lady?"

"Sure. Maybe we can meet the Snake Girl too." Caleb ushered Sam out, despite the younger boy's protests. "Come on, runt. Let's give the elders some time alone before they sink even further."

"Man, are they losing it or what?" Dean said to his brother and Caleb. "Next thing they'll be saying is that vamps are real."

The older hunters stood in silence after the boys left. The mongoose paid them little attention.

"I think its time to go." Jim said, sounding relieved. He turned and headed for the flap that marked entry to the tent. The other men followed.

As Jim reached for the canvas flap, a warbling voice, with an affected southern accent, floated through the tent. "Rhett! If you go, where shall I go? What shall I do?"

The four hunters slowly turned.

Jeff waited until he had his audience's attention. He looked regal, sitting up on his purple cushion.

"Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn."

The End

* * *

**CONGRATULATIONS TO LARAMEE AND HER DOG MISHA!** Misha was chosen after a long process (WOW! You all have some wonderful dogs and it was a hard decision!) as Boo who will appear in To The Victor Go The Spoils by Ridley. A photo will be at the hunterstomb shortly. 


End file.
